This weekend was a bit different. Frog and I departed by ourselves to the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument for a bit of winter camping. Like all of Frog and I’s camping trips everything just seems to fall right into place.
The morning of departure, Friday, Frog has work to finish and I have prepping to do. Obstacle number one: Frog’s winter sleeping bag is at the Rumford post office and we need to pick up. Without it the trip is a bust. Obstacle two: where are we going to sleep the first night? I do some calculating. With the amount of work Frog has she probably can’t leave until 1 or 2 p.m., which puts us up in the vicinity of the monument around 4 or 5 p.m., which doesn’t give us enough time to ski in anywhere to set up. So I call campground after campground looking for something roadside.
Nothing, all closed till summer. I finally get through to a place called Shin Pond Village.
“Hey, I noticed you guys have a campground and I was wondering if we could just set up a tent?”
“Really? We’ve never had anyone ask to do that. Go for it. It’s not plowed or anything”
Relief.
Not only is she letting us do this, she’s excited for us.
We grab the bag early in the morning and around 2 p.m. we’re on the road with 200 miles ahead of us to Shin Pond. Frog works in the passenger seat, typing, but not before updating Queen who has demanded from us a full itinerary. After our last camping trip, during which Queen mixed the days up, believing we were supposed to be back on Saturday night, not Sunday night, causing a whole lot of grief and worry that we had died on a mountainside, she decides to keep closer tabs on us. Frog sends Queen the plan and the timeline and gives permission for Queen to treat herself to a bath while we are gone. Queen’s own version of a perfect weekend.
The miles pass quickly as the traffic on the highway disperses. The landscape becomes more dense the further we go on 95. The sun is setting as Katadhin, a lonely looking peak, emerges from a landscape that it dwarfs. Frog and I climbed Katahdin in the fall and spent three nights camping in the backccountry. We are already fantasizing and making plans to do it again.
The sun drifts behind us as we make our way to the village. The towns are becoming increasingly more rural and we even pass through what appears to be a small Amish community. Upon reaching our destination though I am confronted with an even more bizarre subculture. Snowmobiling. Now, Frog and I have always been aware of snowmobiling, but not as a culture or in this scenario an ethnic group fit for anthropological study.
Here are some observational notes on your average snowmobiler. Every single male snowmobiler exceeded 6ft in height and not so much walked as lumbered towards wherever they were heading. Their coats were large and protective appearing to me as winter armor that housed a giant within it. The Snowmobiler can travel alone, but prefers the company of small groups, or raiding parties. I was not quite aware that the campground we had chosen was a gathering ground for these giants. Hundreds of them. Frog and I are both in a car daze and are simply shocked by their numbers. Zipping in, refueling, racing back into the darkening forests looking for another thrill. At any given time, there are more snowmobiles than cars in The County.
Frog and I look at each other and go inside. I think we both feel like hobbits (I’m 5’6 and she’s 5’4). I tell the woman behind the counter who we are and she is giddy with excitement, telling me that she’s never had anyone do this before. She hands me a map of the grounds which reveals a lean-to. My spirits soar. Frog and I race to check out. And find it 40ft back in waist deep snow. We throw on snow pants and pad down a trail. The small A-frame lean-to is perfect. We won’t even need to set up a tent and we are not even charged to use it.
“It’s so cute.” Frog says.
We unpack and lay everything out (after making a few trips back and forth from the car). Snowmobiles pass us in droves regarding us in a way that probably resembles the way we’re thinking about them. We do not share any greetings, though they greet one another as kindred spirits do, arms open and voices loud.
Frog starts to gather wood for a fire, a passionate desire of hers. She always wants it to be bigger and so she always gathers more than enough wood and to date I’ve never met someone who can gather so much as she can. Example – when we were in Baxter State Park I had gathered what I had thought to be a sizable amount of firewood in a heavily picked over area only to return to her having already gathered three massive bundles that made mine look a simple pile of twigs (which it was). So this time around I just let her get the sticks while I start coals for the grill.
We grill marinated steak and tinfoil pockets of vegetables. We eat with the growls of snowmobiles behind us and the glow of a full moon ahead of us. The night is cold, but our new bags keep us relatively warm. We sleep well and wake with the morning sun. We pack up and hit the road, only 25 minutes away from our destination.
We park at the gate and gather our gear. I find a volunteer who grooms the trails and ask him about sites, and he informs me of an old generator shed five or so miles in. What luck do we have! We equip our packs and skis and head in.
The trails appear to be nicely groomed, but the beautiful scenery is quickly obscured from us by the approaching storm. We glide easily enough, taking breaks to shed layers. I do good for a while, but soon the large flakes have me soaked through. I feel heavy and sluggish. Frog is fine, having worn proper ski pants. She gives me that “I don’t know what you were thinking not wearing ski pants” look. I think about Queen, drinking wine in a hot bath.
After a few hours we finally stumble upon the shed on an unbeaten path. I get inside and strip immediately. I’m not even cold, but the snow has melted on me, and my undershirt is a rag with sweat. Frog returns with good news, a clean outhouse borders us, and she’s decided that on our way back we’re going to stop at Denny’s for a milkshake. Sounds wonderful to me.
Tonight we set up the tent inside for a little extra wind protection. We decorate the walls with our wet clothing and make hot toddies and a dehydrated black bean mixture for dinner. We don’t say much over dinner, we just simply enjoy the snow storm and complete silence. There is probably not another human being with 10 miles of us in any direction. I feel nothing but a great relief and a world away from every single point of stress in my life. I think both of us would stay here for a week if we could. The wind picks up during the night and we fall asleep to the light rustling of branches.
The next morning greeted us with clear skies and warm air, which proved to be a trial of our endurance. Immediately after leaving the site we found the snow sticking to our skis. I can feel the sweat gathering and Frog looks like a snowman gathering mass in front of me. It takes us an hour and half to go two miles, and those miles are grueling. At times I just consider carrying my skis out. We take an extended break at the halfway point, shedding our layers.
The ski may be exhausting, but the clear skies have revealed the lovely mountain ranges that were obscured from us the day before. Every mountain top I want to climb, and I make notes for next summer, or perhaps fall when I know the bugs will be better. The trail finally lights up a bit and we’re able to actually glide. The final stretch passes quickly. At the car we change into clean clothes, my god what a difference. I feel like I’ve taken a shower simply by putting on new underwear.
It’s 2:30 and we begin south, but not before stopping at a raider outpost for a piece of pecan pie which is absolutely delicious. We share the piece while under the observation of four stuffed blacks bears all posing in aggressive stances. We leave hitting the road for real this time.
The drive passes quickly (why does the way back always seem shorter? Lack of anticipation?). Frog returns to work on her laptop and I listen to music with a natural smile on my face (note* you should try this sometime. Just smile without a reason and soon enough you’ll find a reason to be smiling). I’m smiling now, because I’m reminded of how much fun I have with Frog. Fun in not so much what we’re doing, but in doing. We could be looking at moss on a rock and I would still be experiencing massive releases of serotonin (this has happened).
We stop at Denny’s for a milkshake only to find the machine broken (that always seems to be the case). The drive lingers on and our exhaustion becomes evident on our faces. I’m sure Queen is feeling refreshed (I found out later that every luxury I imagined she was giving herself was in fact true, with Bossa nova to add).
We pull into Waterville, our hankering for milkshakes still strong. I pull into a Five-Guys and we pick up a couple of shakes, which fuel us for the last hour. As we get close to home, Frog lights up.
“I just realized something.”
I’m startled and worried that something major has been forgotten.
“I can just leave all this stuff in the car to unpack tomorrow.”
My dread dissipates as I drink more of my milkshake. We feel alive now that we know we can just leave the hard stuff for another day. We continue home in darkness. The day hasn’t even ended yet and we’re already reminiscing. We leave everything in the car that night, a concern too far away for us to care.
